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ATTACK 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NSW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOIJRNB 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



ATTACK 

AN INFANTRY SUBALTERN'S IMPRESSIONS 
OF JULY 1st, 1916 



BY 
EDWARD G. D. LIVEING 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
JOHN MASEFIELD 



N^m fork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1918 

±11 rights reserve A 






Copyright, 1918 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Set up and electretyped. Published, April, 1818 



^ 24 1918 
©Ci.A494708 



TO 

THE N. C. 0.8 

AND 

MEN OF No. 5 PLATOON 

Of a Battalion of the County of London 

Regiment, whom I had the good 

fortune to command in France 

during 1915-1916, and in 

particular to the 

memory of 

Rfn. C. N. DENNISON 

My Platoon Observer, who fell in action 

July 1st, 1916. in an attempt 

to save my life 



INTEODUCTION 

The attack on the fortified village of 
Gonunecourt, which Mr. Liveing describes 
in these pages with such power and colour, 
was a part of the first great allied attack 
on July 1, 1916, which began the battle 
of the Sonune. That battle, so far as it 
concerns our own troops, may be divided 
into two sectors : one, to the south of the 
Ancre Eiver, a sector of advance, the 
other, to the north of the Ancre Eiver, a 
containing sector, in which no advance was 
possible. Gonunecourt itself, which made 
a slight but important salient in the enemy 
line in the containing sector, was the most 



8 Introduction 

northern point attacked in that first day's 
fighting. 

Though the Gonunecourt position is not 
impressive to lock at, most of our soldiers 
are agreed that it was one of the very 
strongest points in the enemy's fortified 
line on the Western Front. French and 
Eussian officers, v^ho have seen it since 
the enemy left it, have described it as 
^ terrible" and as 'Hhe very devil." 
There can be no doubt that it was all that 
they say. 

The country in that part is high-lying 
chalk downland, something like the down- 
land of Berkshire and Buckinghamshire, 
though generally barer of trees, and less 
bold in its valleys. Before the war it was 
cultivated, hedgeless land, under corn and 
sugar-beet. The chalk is usually well- 



Introduction 9 

covered, as in Buckinghamshire, with a 
fat clay. As the French social tendency 
is all to the community, there are few 
lonely farms in that countryside as there 
would be with us. The inhabitants live in 
many compact villages, each with a 
church, a market-place, a watering-place 
for stock, and sometimes a chateau and 
park. Most of the villages are built of 
red brick, and the churches are of stone, 
not (as in the chalk countries with us) of 
dressed flint. Nearly all the villages are 
planted about with orchards; some have 
copses of timber trees. In general, from 
any distance, the villages stand out upon 
the downland as clumps of woodland. 
Nearly everywhere near the battlefield a 
clump of orchard, with an occasional dark 
fir in it, is the mark of some small village. 



10 Introduction 

In time of peace the Picardy farming com- 
munity numbered some two or three hun- 
dred souls. Gommecourt and Hebuterne 
were of the larger kind of village. 

A traveller coming towards Gomme- 
court as Mr. Liveing came to it, from the 
west, sees nothing of the Gommecourt 
position till he reaches Hebuterne. It is 
hidden from him by the tilt of the high- 
lying chalk plateau, and by the woodland 
and orchards round Hebuterne village. 
Passing through this village, which is now 
deserted, save for a few cats, one comes 
to a fringe of orchard, now deep in grass, 
and of exquisite beauty. From the hedge 
of this fringe of orchard one sees the 
Gommecourt position straight in front, 
with the Gommecourt salient curving 



Introduction 11 

round on slightly rising ground, so as to 
enclose the left flank. 

At first sight the position is not remark- 
able. One sees, to the left, a slight rise 
or swelling in the chalk, covered thickly 
with the remains and stumps of noble 
trees, now mostly killed by shell-fire. 
This swelling, which is covered with the 
remains of Gommecourt Park, is the sali- 
ent of the enemy position. The enemy 
trenches here jut out into a narrow point- 
ing finger to enclose and defend this slight 
rise. 

Further to the right, this rise becomes a 
low, gentle heave in the chalk, which 
stretches away to the south for some miles, 
becoming lower and gentler in its slope 
as it proceeds. The battered woodland 



12 Introduction 

which covers its higher end contains the 
few stumps and heaps of brick that were 
once Gonunecourt village. The lower end 
is without trees or buildings. 

This slight wooded rise and low, gentle 
heave in the chalk make up the position of 
Gommecourt. It is nothing but a gentle 
rise above a gentle valley. From a mile 
or two to the south of Gommecourt, this 
valley appearance becomes more marked. 
If one looks northward from this point 
the English lines seem to follow a slight 
rise parallel with the other. The valley 
between the two heaves of chalk make the 
No Man's Land or space between the 
enemy trenches and our own. The salient 
shuts in the end of the valley and en- 
filades it. 

The position has changed little since 



Introduction 13 

the attack of July 1. Then, as now, 
Gommecourt was in ruins, and the trees of 
the wood were mostly killed. Then, as 
now, the position looked terrible, even 
though its slopes were gentle and its 
beauty not quite destroyed, even after two 
years of war. 

The position is immensely strong in it- 
self, with a perfect glacis and field of 
fire. Every invention of modern defen- 
sive war helped to make it stronger. In 
front of it was the usual system of barbed 
wire, stretched on iron supports, over a 
width of fifty yards. Behind the wire 
was the system of the First Enemy Main 
Line, from which many communication- 
trenches ran to the central fortress of the 
salient, known as the Kern Redoubt, and 
to the Support or Guard Line. This 



14 Introduction 

First Main Line, even now, after count- 
less bombardments and nine months of 
neglect, is a great and deep trench of im- 
mense strength. It is from twelve to fif- 
teen feet deep, very strongly revetted with 
timberings and stout wicker-work. At 
intervals it is strengthened with small 
forts or sentry-boxes of concrete, built 
into the parapet. Great and deep dug- 
outs lie below it, and though many of 
these have now been destroyed, the shafts 
of most of them can still be seen. At the 
mouths of some of these shafts one may 
still see giant-legged periscopes by which 
men sheltered in the dug-out shafts could 
watch for the coming of an attack. 
When the attack began and the barrage 
lifted, these watchers called up the bomb- 
ers and machine-gunners from their un- 



Introduction 15 

derground barracks, and had them in ac- 
tior within a few seconds. 

Though the wire was formidable and 
the trench immense, the real defences of 
the position were artillery and machine- 
guns. The machine-guns were the chief 
danger. One machine-gun with ample 
ammunition has concentrated in itself the 
defensive power of a battalion. The 
enemy had not less than a dozen machine- 
guns in and in front of the Kern Redoubt. 
Some of these were cunningly hidden in 
pits, tunnels and shelters in (or even out- 
side) the obstacle of the wire at the 
salient, so that they could enfilade the No 
Man's Land, or shoot an attacking party 
in the back after it had passed. The sites 
of these machine-gun nests were well hid- 
den from all observation, and were fre- 



16 Introduction 

quently changed. Besides the mach''^^- 
guns outside and in the front line, i!^^^^ 
were others, mounted in the trees and ijy 
the higher ground above the front line, in 
such position that they, too, could play 
upon the No Man's Land and the Eng- 
lish front line. The artillery concen- 
trated behind Gonunecourt was of all 
calibres. It was a greater concentration 
than the enemy could then usually afford 
to defend any one sector, but the number 
of guns in it is not known. On July 1 
it developed a more intense artillery fire 
upon Hebuterne, and the English line out- 
side it, than upon any part of the English 
attack throughout the battlefield. 

In the attack of July 1, Gommecourt 
was assaulted simultaneously from the 
north (from the direction of Ponquevil- 



Introduction 17 

lers) and from the south (from the direc- 
tion of Hebuterne). Mr. Liveing took 
part in the southern assault, and must 
have ^^gone in" near the Hebuterne- 
Bucquoy Road. The tactical intention of 
these simultaneous attacks from north and 
south was to '^ pinch off" and secure the 
salient. The attack to the north, though 
gallantly pushed, was unsuccessful. 
The attack to the south got across the first- 
line trench and into the enemy position 
past Gommecourt Cemetery almost to the 
Kern Redoubt. What it faced in getting 
so far may be read in Mr. Liveing 's ac- 
count. Before our men left the trenches 
outside Hebuterne they were in a heavy 
barrage, and the open valley of the No 
Man's Land hissed, as Mr. Liveing says, 
like an engine, with machine-gun bullets. 



18 Introduction 

Nevertheless, our men reached the third 
line of enemy trenches and began to se- 
cure the ground which they had captured. 

During the afternoon the enemy 
counter-attacked from the south, and, 
later in the day, from the north as well. 
Our men had not enough bombs to hold 
back the attackers, and were gradually 
driven back, after very severe hand-to- 
hand fighting in the trenches, to an evil 
little bend in the front line directly to the 
south of Gommecourt Cemetery. At 
about 11 p.m., after sixteen hours of in- 
tense and bitter fighting, they were driven 
back from this point to their own lines. 

Mr. Liveing's story is very well told. 
It is a simple and most vivid account of a 
modern battle. No better account has 
been written in England since the war be- 



Introduction 19 

gan. I hope that so rare a talent for 
narrative may be recognised. I hope, 
too, that Mr. Liveing may soon be able 
to give us more stories as full of life as 
this. 

John Masefield. 

The Author wishes to thank Messrs. 
Blackwood and Sons for their kind per- 
mission to republish this article, which 
appeared in Blackwood^s Magazine, De- 
cember, 1917, under the title of ** Battle." 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Gathering for Attack 23 

II. Eve of Attack . . ^. . . . . . 28 

III. Attack . 54 

IV. Toll OF Attack ...... [. . 93 



ATTACK 

CHAPTER I 

GATHERING FOR ATTACK 

The roads were packed with traffic. 
Column after column of lorries came 
pounding along, bearing their freight 
of shells, trench-mortar bombs, wire, 
stakes, sandbags, pipes, and a thousand 
other articles essential for the offensive, 
so that great dumps of explosives and 
other material arose in the green wayside 
places. Staff cars and signallers on 
motor-bikes went busily on their way. 
Ambulances hurried backwards and for- 
wards between the line and the Casualty 

23 



24 Attack 

Clearing Station, for the days of June 
were hard days for the infantry who dug 
the *4eaping-off'' trenches, and manned 
them afterwards through rain and raid 
and bombardment. Horse transport and 
new batteries hurried to their destina- 
tions. ** Caterpillars" rumbled up, tow- 
ing the heavier gims. Infantrymen and 
sappers marched to their tasks round and 
about the line. 

Eoads were repaired, telephone wires 
placed deep in the ground, trees felled for 
dug-outs and gun emplacements, water- 
pipes laid up to the trenches ready to be 
extended across conquered territory, 
while small-gauge and large-gauge rail- 
ways seemed to spring to being in the 
night. 

Then came days of terror for the enemy. 



Gathering for Attack 25 

Slowly our guns broke forth upon them 
in a tumult of rage. The Germans in re- 
taliation sprayed our nearer batteries with 
shrapnel, and threw a barrage of whizz- 
bangs across the little white road leading 
into the village of Hebuterne. This 
feeble retaliation was swallowed up and 
overpowered by the torrent of metal that 
now poured incessantly into their terri- 
tory. Shells from the 18-pounders and 
trench-mortars cut their wire and demor- 
alised their sentries. Guns of all calibres 
pounded their system of trenches till it 
looked for all the world like nothing more 
than a ploughed field. The sky was filled 
with our aeroplanes wheeling about and 
directing the work of batteries, and with 
the black and white bursts of anti-aircraft 
shells. Shells from the 9.2 howitzers 



26 Attack 

crashed into strong points and gun em- 
placements and hurled them skywards. 
Petrol shells licked up the few remaining 
green-leaved trees in Gommecourt Wood, 
where observers watched and snipers 
nested: 15-inch naval guns, under the 
vigilant guidance of observation balloons, 
wrought deadly havoc in Bapaume and 
other villages and billets behind their 
lines. 

Thrice were the enemy enveloped in gas 
and smoke, and, as they stood-to in ex- 
pectation of attack, were mown down by 
a torrent of shells. 

The bombardment grew and swelled and 

.brought down showers of rain. Yet the 

ground remained comparatively dry and 

columns of dust arose from the roads as 

hoof and wheel crushed their broken sur- 



Gathering for Attach 27 

faces and battalions of infantry, with 
songs and jests, marched up to billets and 
bivouacs just behind the line, ready to give 
battle. 



CHAPTER II 

EVE OF ATTACK 

Boom! Absolute silence for a minute. 
Boom! followed quickly by a more dis- 
tant report from a fellow-gun. At each 
bellowing roar from the 9.2 near by, bits 
of the ceiling clattered on to the floor of 
the billet and the wall-plaster trickled 
down on to one's valise, making a sound 
like soot coming down a chimney. 

It was about three o'clock in the morn- 
ing. I did not look at my watch, as its 
luminous facings had faded away months 
before and I did not wish to disturb my 
companions by lighting a match. A sigh 

28 



Eve of Attack 29 

or a groan came from one part of the room 
or another, showing that our bombard- 
ment was troublesome even to the sleepers, 
and a rasping noise occasionally occurred 

when W k, my Company Commander, 

turned round uneasily on his bed of wood 
and rabbit- wire. 

I plunged farther down into the recesses 
of my flea-bag, though its linings had 
broken down and my feet stuck out at 
the bottom. Then I pulled my British 
Warm over me and muflSed my head and 
ears in it to escape the regularly-repeated 
roar of the 9.2. Though the whole house 
seemed to be shaking to bits at every min- 
ute, the noise was muffled to a less ear- 
splitting fury and I gradually sank into a 
semi-sleep. 

About six o'clock I awoke finally, and 



30 Attack 

after an interval the battery stopped its 
work. At half -past seven I hauled myself 
out of my valise and sallied forth into 
the courtyard, clad in a British Warm, 
pyjamas, and gum-boots, to make my 
toilet. I blinked as I came into the light 
and felt very sleepy. The next moment 
I was on my hands and knees, with every 
nerve of my brain working like a mill- 
stone. A vicious ^^ swish" had sounded 
over my head, and knowing its meaning 
I had turned for the nearest door and 
slipped upon the cobbled stones of the 
yard. I picked myself up and fled for 
that door just as the inevitable ** crash" 
came. This happened to be the door to 
the servants' quarters, and they were 
vastly amused. We looked out of the 
window at the debris which was rising 



Eve of Attack 31 

into the air. Two more '* crumps" came 
whirling over the house, and with shatter- 
ing explosions lifted more debris into the 
air beyond the farther side of the court- 
yard. Followed a burst of shrapnel and 
one more ^^ crump," and the enemy's re- 
taliation on the 9.2 and its crew had 
ceased. The latter, however, had de- 
scended into their dug-out, while the gun 
remained unscathed. Not so some of our 
own men. 

We were examining the nose-cap of a 
shell which had hit the wall of our billet, 
when a corporal came up, who said hur- 
riedly to W ^k, ''Corporal G 's 

been killed and four men wounded." 

The whole tragedy had happened so 
swiftly, and this sudden announcement 
of the death of one of our best N.C.O.s 



32 Attack 

had come as such a shock, that all we did 
was to stare at each other with the words : 

''Mj God I Corporal G gone! 

It's impossible." 

One expects shells and death in the line, 
but three or four miles behind it one grows 
accustomed, so to speak, to live in a fool's 
paradise. We went round to see our 
casualties, and I found two of my platoon, 
bandaged in the leg and arm, sitting in a 
group of their pals, who were congratulat- 
ing them on having got ^^soft Blighty- 
ones. " The Company Quartermaster- 
Sergeant showed me a helmet, which was 
lying outside the billet when the shells 
came over, with a triangular gash in it, 
into which one could almost place one's 

fist. At the body of Corporal G I 

could not bring myself to look. The poor 



Eve of Attack 33 

fellow had been terribly hit in the back 
and neck, and, I confess it openly, I had 
not the courage, and felt that it would be 
a sacrilege, to gaze on the mangled re- 
mains of one whom I had valued so much 
as an N.C.O. and grown to like so much 
as a man during the last ten months. 

Dark clouds were blowing over in an 
easterly direction ; a cheerless day added to 
the general gloom. We had a Company 
Officers' final consultation on the plans 
for the morrow, after which I held an in- 
spection of my platoon, and gave out some 
further orders. On my return to the bil- 
let W ^k told me that the attack had 

been postponed for two days owing to 
bad weather. Putting aside all thought 
of orders for the time being, we issued out 
rum to the men, indulged in a few **tots" 



34 Attack 

ourselves, and settled down to a pleasant 

evening. 

• ••••• 

In a little courtyard on the evening of 
June 30 I called the old platoon to atten- 
tion for the last time, shook hands with 
the officers left in reserve, marched off 
into the road, and made up a turning to 
the left on to the Blue Track. We had 
done about a quarter of the ground be- 
tween Bayencourt and Sailly-au-Bois 
when a messenger hurried up to tell me 
to halt, as several of the platoons of the 

L S had to pass us. We sat 

down by a large shell-hole, and the men 
lit up their pipes and cigarettes and 
shouted jokes to the men of the other regi- 
ment as they passed by. 

It was a very peaceful evening — re- 



Eve of Attack 35 

markably peaceful, now that the guns 
were at rest. A light breeze played east- 
ward. I sat with my face towards the 
sunset, wondering a little if this was the 
last time that I should see it. One often 
reads of this sensation in second-rate 
novels. I must say that I had always 
thought it greatly ^ ^ overdone " ; but a great 
zest in the splendour of life swept over 
me as I sat there in the glow of that set- 
ting sun, and also a great calmness that 
gave me heart to do my uttermost on the 
morrow. My father had enclosed a little 
card in his last letter to me with the words 
upon it of the prayer of an old cavalier of 
the seventeenth century — Sir Jacob Ast- 
ley — before the battle of Newbury: — 
^^Lord, I shall be very busy this day. I 
may forget Thee, but do not Thou forget 



36 Attack 

me." A peculiar old prayer, but I kept 
on repeating it to myself with great com- 
fort that evening. My men were rather 
quiet. Perhaps the general calmness was 
affecting them with kindred thoughts, 
though an Englishman never shows them. 
On the left stood the stiunpy spire of 
Bazencourt Church just left by us. On 
the right lay Sailly-au-Bois in its girdle 
of trees. Along the side of the valley 
which ran out from behind Sailly-au- 
Bois, arose numerous lazy pillars of 
smoke from the wood fires and kitchens 
of an artillery encampment. An English 
aeroplane, with a swarm of black puffs 
around it betokening German shells, was 
gleaming in the setting sun. It purred 
monotonously, almost drowning the 



Eve of Attack 37 

screech of occasional shells which were 
dropping by a distant chateau. The calm 
before the storm sat brooding over every- 
thing. 

The kilted platoons having gone on their 
way, we resumed our journey, dipping 
into the valley behind Sailly-au-Bois, and 
climbing the farther side, as I passed the 
officers' mess hut belonging to an anti- 
aircraft battery, which had taken up a 
position at the foot of the valley, and 
whence came a pleasant sound of clink- 
ing glass, a wild desire for permanent 
comfort affected me. 

Rounding the outskirts of Sailly-au- 
Bois, we arrived in the midst of the bat- 
tery positions nesting by the score in the 
level plain behind Hebuterne. The bat- 



38 Attack 

teries soon let us know of their presence. 
Eed flashes broke out in the gathering 
darkness, followed by quick reports. 

To the right one could discern the dim 
outlines of platoons moving up steadily 
and at equal distances like ourselves. 
One could just catch the distant noise of 
spade clinking on rifle. When I turned 
my gaze to the front of these troops, I 
saw yellow-red flashes licking upon the 
horizon, where our shells were finding 
their mark. Straight in front, whither 
we were bound, the girdle of trees round 
Hebuterne shut out these flashes from 
view, but by the noise that came from be- 
yond those trees one knew that the Ger- 
man trenches were receiving exactly the 
same intensity of fire there. Every now 
and then this belt of trees was being 



Eve of Attack 39 

thrown into sharp relief by German star- 
shells, which rocketed into the sky one 
after the other like a display of fireworks, 
while at times a burst of hostile shrapnel 
would throw a weird, red light on the 
twinkling poplars which surrounded the 
cemetery. 

As we marched on towards the village 
(I do not mind saying it) I experienced 
that unpleasant sensation of wondering 
whether I should be lying out this time 
to-morrow— stiff and cold in that land 
beyond the trees, where the red shrapnel 
burst and the star-shells flickered. I re- 
member hoping that, if the fates so de- 
creed, I should not leave too great a gap 
in my family, and, best hope of all, that 
I should instead be speeding home in an 
ambulance on the road that stretched 



40 Attack 

along to our left. I do not think that I 
am far wrong when I say that those 
thoughts were occurring to every man in 
the silent platoon behind me. Not that 
we were downhearted. If you had asked 
the question, you would have been greeted 
by a cheery ^^No!" We were all full of 
determination to do our best next day, 
but one cannot help enduring rather an 
unusual *^ party feeling" before going into 
an attack. 

Suddenly a German shell came scream- 
ing towards us. It hurtled overhead and 
fell behind us with muffled detonation in 
Sailly-au-Bois. Several more screamed 
over us as we went along, and it was 
peculiar to hear the shells of both sides 
echoing backwards and forwards in the 
sky at the same time. 



Eve of Attack 41 

We were about four hundred yards 
from the outskirts of Hebuterne, when I 
was made aware of the fact that the pla- 
toon in front of me had stopped. I im- 
mediately stopped my platoon. I sat the 
men down along a bank, and we waited — 
a wait which was whiled away by various 
incidents. I could hear a dog barking, 
and just see two gunner officers who were 
walking imconcemedly about the battery 
positions and whistling for it. The next 
thing that happened was a red flash in 
the air about two hundred yards away, and 
a pinging noise as bits of shrapnel shot 
into the ground round about. One of my 

men, S (the poor chap was killed next 

day), called to me: ^^Look at that fire in 
Sailly, sir!" I turned roimd and saw a 
great yellow flare illuminating the sky in 



42 Attack 

the direction of Sailly, the fiery end of 
some barn or farm-building, where a high 
explosive had found its billet. 
We remained in this spot for nearly a 

quarter of an hour, after which E d's 

platoon began to move on, and I followed 
at a good distance with mine. We made 
our way to the clump of trees over which 
the shrapnel had burst a few minutes 
before. Suddenly we found ourselves 
floundering in a sunken road flooded with 
water knee-deep. This was not exactly 
pleasant, especially when my guide in- 
formed me that he was not quite certain 
as to our whereabouts. Luckily, we soon 
gained dry ground again, turned off into 
a bit of trench which brought us into the 
village, and made for the dump by the 
church, where we were to pick up our ma- 



Eve of Attack 43 

terials. When we reached the church — 
or, rather, its ruins — the road was so filled 
with parties and platoons, and it was be- 
coming so dark, that it took us some time 
before we found the dump. Fortunately, 
the first person whom I spotted was the 
Regimental Sergeant-Major, and I handed 
over to him the carrying-party which I 
had to detail, also despatching the rum 
and soup parties — the latter to the com- 
pany cooker. 

Leaving the platoon in charge of 

Sergeant S 1, I went with my guide 

in search of the dump. In the general 

melee I bumped into W k. We found 

the rabbit wire, barbed wire, and other 
material in a shell-broken outhouse, and, 
grabbing hold of it, handed the stuff out 
to the platoon. 



44 Attack 

As we filed through the village the re- 
flections of star-shells threw weird lights 
on half -ruined houses ; an occasional shell 
screamed overhead, to burst with a dull, 
echoing sound within the shattered walls 
of former cottages ; and one could hear the 
rat-tat-tat of machine-guns. These had 
a nasty habit of spraying the village with 
indirect fire, and it was, as always, a re- 
lief to enter the recesses of Wood Street 
without having any one hit. This com- 
munication trench dipped into the earth 
at right angles to the ** Boulevard" 
Street. We clattered along the brick- 
floored trench, whose walls were overhung 
with the dewy grass and flowers of the 
orchard — that wonderful orchard whose 
aroma had survived the horror and desola- 
tion of a two years' warfare, and seemed 



Eve of Attack 45 

DOW only to be intensified to a softer f rag- 
grance by the night air. 

Arriving at the belt of trees and hedge 
which marked the confines of the orchard, 
we turned to the right into Cross Street, 
which cut along behind the belt of trees 
into Woman Street. 

Turning to the left up Woman Street, 
and leaving the belt of trees behind, we 
wound into the slightly undulating ground 
between Hebuterne and Gommecourt 
Wood. ^^ Crumps" were bursting round 
about the communication trench, but at a 
distance, judging by their report, of at 
least fifty yards. As we were passing 
Brigade Headquarters' Dug-out, the 
Brigade-Major appeared and asked me 
the number of my platoon. ^^ Number 
5," I replied; and he answered **Good," 



46 Attack 

with a touch of relief in his voice — for we 
had been held up for some time on the way, 
and my platoon was the first or second 
platoon of the company to get into the 
line. 

It was shortly after this that ^^ crumps" 
began to burst dangerously near. There 
was suddenly a blinding flash and terrific 
report just to our left. We kept on, 
with heads aching intolerably. Winding 
round a curve, we came upon the effects 
of the shells. The sides of the trench had 
been blown in, while in the middle of the 
dehris lay a dead or unconscious man, and 
farther on a man groaning faintly upon 
a stretcher. We scrambled over them, 
passed a few more wounded and stretcher- 
bearers, and arrived at the Eeserve Line. 

Captain W 1 was standing at the 



Eve of Attack 47 

juncture of Woman Street and the Re- 
serve Line, cool and calm as usual. I 
asked him if New Woman Street was 
blocked, but there was no need for a reply. 
A confused noise of groans and stertor- 
ous breathing, and of some one sobbing, 

came to my ears, and above it all, M 

W 's voice saying to one of his men: 

*^It's all right, old chap. It's all over 
now. ' ' He told me afterwards that a shell 
had landed practically in the trench, kill- 
ing two men in front of him and one be- 
hind, and wounding several others, but not 
touching himself. 

It was quite obvious to me that it was 
impossible to proceed to the support 
trench via New Woman Street, and at any 
rate my Company Commander had given 
me orders to go over the top from the re- 



48 Attack 

serve to the support line, so, shells or no 

shells, and leaving Sergeant S ^1 to 

bring up the rear of the platoon, I scaled 
a ladder leaning on the side of the trench 
and walked over the open for about two 
hundred yards. My guide and I jumped 
into New Woman Street just before it 
touched the support line, and we were soon 
joined by several other men of the platoon. 
We had already suffered three casualties, 
and going over the top in the darkness, the 
men had lost touch. The ration party 
also had not arrived yet. I despatched 
the guide to bring up the remainder, and 
proceeded to my destination with about 
six men. About fifteen yards farther up 
the trench I found a series of shell-holes 
threading their way off to the left. By 
the light of some German star-shells I 



Eve of Attack 49 

discerned an officer groping about these 
holes, and I stumbled over mounds and 
hollows towards him. 

**Is this the support line?'' I asked, 
rather foolishly. 

^* Yes," he replied, *^but there isn't much 
room in it." I saw that he was an officer 
of the Royal Engineers. 

**I'm putting my smoke-bombers down 
here," he continued, ^^but you'll find more 
room over towards the sunken road." 

He showed me along the trench — or the 
remains of it — and went off to carry out 
his own plans. I stumbled along till I 
could just distinguish the outlines of the 
sunken road. The trench in this direction 
was blown in level with the ground. I re- 
turned to W k, whose headquarters 

were at the juncture of New Woman 



50 Attack 

Street and the support line, telling him 
that the trench by the sunken road was 
untenable, and that I proposed placing 
my platoon in a smaller length of trench, 
and spreading them out f anwise when we 
started to advance. To this he agreed, 
and putting his hand on my shoulder in 
his characteristic fashion, informed me in 
a whisper that the attack was to start at 
7.30 A.M. As far as I can remember it 
was about one o'clock by now, and more 
of my men had come up. I ensconced 
them by sections. No. 1 section on the 
left and No. 4 on the right in shell-holes 
and the remains of the trench along a dis- 
tance of about forty yards, roughly half 
the length of the trench that they were to 
have occupied. At the same time I gave 
orders to my right- and left-hand guides 



Eve of Attack 51 

to incline off to the right and left re- 
spectively when the advance started. I 
was walking back to my headquarters, a 
bit of trench behind a traverse, when a 
German searchlight, operating from the 
direction of Serre Wood, turned itself al- 
most dead on me. I was in my trench in 
a second. 

Shortly afterwards Sergeant S r ar- 
rived with No. 8 platoon. I showed him 
one or two available portions of trench, 
but most of his men had to crowd in with 
mine. The Lewis-gunners, who arrived 
last, found only a ruined bit of trench 
next to my ^^headquarters," while they 
deposited their guns and equipment in a 
shell-hole behind. 

It was somewhere about four or half- 
past when I made my last inspection. I 



52 Attack 

clambered over the back of the trench and 
stood still for a moment or so. Every- 
thing was uncannily silent. There was 
just a suspicion of whiteness creeping into 
the sky beyond the rising ground opposite. 
Over towards the left rose the remains of 
Gommecourt Wood. Half its trees had 
gone since the last time that I had seen 
it, and the few that remained stood, look- 
ing like so many masts in a harbour, gaunt 
and charred by our petrol shells. 

The men in the left fire-bay seemed 
quite comfortable. But, standing and 
looking down the trench, it suddenly 
dawned upon me that I was gazing right 
into a line of chalky German trenches, and 
consequently that the enemy in those 
trenches could look straight into this 
trench. I left instructions with the cor- 



Eve of Attack 53 

poral in charge of that section to build up 
a barricade in the gap before daybreak. 
As I went along the rest of our frontage, 
Sergeant S ^1 doled out the rum. 

I retired to my ^^headquarters," but not 

so Sergeant S ^1, who seemed not to 

bother a bit about the increasing light and 
the bullets which came phitting into the 
ground in rather an impleasant quantity. 
I was glad when I had finally got him 

down into the trench. W k had also 

told him to get in, for he remarked — 

'^Captain W ^k, 'e says to me, *Get 

into the trench, S 1, you b fool!' 

so I've got in." 

He was just in time. A prelude of 
shrapnel screamed along, bursting over- 
head, and there followed an hour's nerve- 
racking bombardment. 



CHAPTER III 

ATTACK 

Dawn was breaking. The morning was 
cool after a cMU night — a night of waiting 
in blown-down trenches with not an inch 
to move to right or left, of listening to the 
enemy's shells as they left the guns and 
came tearing and shrieking towards you, 
knowing all the time that they were aimed 
for your particular bit of trench and 
would land in it or by it, of awaiting that 
sudden, ominous silence, and then the 
crash — perhaps death. 

I, for my part, had spent most of the 
night sitting on a petrol tin, wedged be- 

54 



Attack 55 

tween the-wo sides of the trench and two 
human beings — my sergeant on the left 
and a corporal on the right. Like others, 
I had slept for part of the time despite the 
noise and danger, awakened now and then 
by the shattering crash of a shell or the 
hopeless cry for stretcher-bearers. 

But morning was coming at last, and 
the bombardment had ceased. The wind 
blew east, and a few fleecy clouds raced 
along the blue sky overhead. The sun was 
infusing more warmth into the air. 
There was the freshness and splendour of 
a summer morning over everything. In 
fact, as one man said, it felt more as if 
we were going to start off for a picnic 
than for a battle. 

*^Pass it down to Sergeant H that 

Sergeant S 1 wishes him the top o' the 



56 Attack 

morninV' said my sergeant. But Ser- 
geant H— — , who was in charge of the 
company's Lewis-guns, and had been sta- 
tioned in the next fire-trench, was at pres- 
ent groping his way to safety with a lump 
of shrapnel in his back. 

An occasional shell sang one way or 
the other. Otherwise all was quiet. We 
passed down the remains of the rum. 

Sergeant S ^1 pressed me to take some 

out of a mess-tin lid. I drank a very lit- 
tle — ^the first and last **tot" I took during 
the battle. It warmed me up. Some 
time after this I looked at my watch and 
found it was a minute or two before 6.25 
A.M. I turned to the corporal, saying — 
** They '11 just about start now." 
The words were not out of my mouth 
before the noise, which had increased a 



Attack 57 

trifle during the last twenty minutes, sud- 
denly swelled into a gigantic roar. Our 
guns had started. The din was so deafen- 
ing that one could not hear the crash of 
German shells exploding in our own lines. 

Sergeant S 1 was standing straight 

up in the trench and looking over to see 
the effects of our shells. It was a brave 
thing to do, but absolutely reckless. I 
pulled him down by the tail of his tunic. 
He got up time and again, swearing that 
he would ^Hake on the whole b Ger- 
man army." He gave us pleasing in- 
formation of the effects of our bombard- 
ment, but as I did not want htm to lose 
his life prematurely, I saw to it that we 
kept him down in the trench till the time 
came for a display of bravery, in which 
he was not lacking. 



58 Attack 

We had been told that the final bom- 
bardment that day would be the most in- 
tense one since the beginning of the war. 
The attack was to encircle what was al- 
most generally considered the strongest 
German '^fortress" on the Western Front, 
the stronghold of Gommecourt Wood. 
There was need of it, therefore. 

Just over the trenches, almost raising 
the hair on one's head (we were helmeted, 
I must say, but that was the feeling), 
swished the smaller shells from the French 
.75 and English 18-pounder batteries. 
They gave one the sensation of being un- 
der a swiftly rushing stream. The larger 
shells kept up a continuous shrieking 
overhead, falling on the enemy's trenches 
with the roar of a cataract, while every 
now and then a noise as of thunder 



Attack 59 

sounded above all when our trench-mortar 
shells fell amongst the German wire, blow- 
ing it to bits, making holes like mine cra- 
ters, and throwing dirt and even bits of 
metal into our own trenches. 

I have often tried to call to memory the 
intellectual, mental and nervous activity 
through which I passed during that hour 
of hellish bombardment and counter-bom- 
bardment, that last hour before we leapt 
out of our trenches into No Man's Land. 
I give the vague recollection of that or- 
deal for what it is worth. I had an ex- 
cessive desire for the time to come when 
I could go ^^over the top," when I should 
be free at last from the noise of the bom- 
bardment, free from the prison of my 
trench, free to walk across that patch of 
No Man 's Land and opposing trenches till 



60 Attack 

I got to my objective, or, if I did not go 
that far, to have my fate decided for bet- 
ter or for worse. I experienced, too, mo- 
ments of intense fear during close bom- 
bardment. I felt that if I was blown up 
it would be the end of all things so far as 
I was concerned. The idea of after-life 
seemed ridiculous in the presence of such 
frightful destructive force. Again the 
prayer of that old cavalier kept coming to 
my mind. At any rate, one could but do 
one's best, and I hoped that a higher power 
than all that which was around would not 
overlook me or any other fellows on that 
day. At one time, not very long before 
the moment of attack, I felt to its intensest 
depth the truth of the proverb, **Carpe 
diem." What was time? I had another 
twenty minutes in which to live in com- 



Attack 61 

parative safety. What was the difference 
between twenty minutes and twenty 
years'? Really and truly what was the 
difference'? I was living at present, and 
that was enough. I am afraid that this 
working of mind will appear unintelligi- 
ble. I cannot explain it further. I think 
that others who have waited to **go over" 
will realise its meaning. Above all, per- 
haps, and except when shells falling near 
by brought one back to reality, the intense 
cascade-like noise of our own shells rush- 
ing overhead numbed for the most part of 
the time one's nervous and mental system. 
Listening to this pandemonium, one felt 
like one of an audience at a theatre and 
not in the least as if one was in any way 
associated with it oneself. 

Still, the activity of a man's nerves, 



62 Attack 

though dulled to a great extent inwardly, 
were bound to show externally. I turned 
to the corporal. He was a brave fellow, 
and had gone through the Gallipoli cam- 
paign, but he was shaking all over, and 
white as parchment. I expect that I was 
just the same. 

*^We must be giving them hell,'' I said. 
**I don't think they're sending much 
back." 

^^I don't think much, sir," he replied. 

I hardly think we believed each other. 
Looking up out of the trench beyond him, 
I saw huge, black columns of smoke and 
debris rising up from our communication 
trench. Then, suddenly, there was a 
blinding *^ crash" just by us. We were 
covered in mud which flopped out of the 
trench, and the evil-smelling fumes of 



Attack 63 

lyddite. The cry for stretcher-bearers 
was passed hurriedly up the line again. 
Followed '^ crash" after ^^ crash," and the 
pinging of shrapnel which flicked into the 
top of the trench, the purring noise of 
flying nose-caps and soft thudding sounds 
as they fell into the parapet. 

It was difficult to hear one another talk- 
ing. Sergeant S 1 was still full of the 

^^get at 'em" spirit. So were we all. 
The men were behaving splendidly. I 
passed along the word to *^Fix swords." 

We could not see properly over the top 
of the trench, but smoke was going over. 
The attack was about to begin — it was 
beginning. I passed word round the 
corner of the traverse, asking whether 
they could see if the second wave was 
starting. It was just past 7.30 a.m. The 



64 Attack 

third wave, of which my platoon formed 
a part, was due to start at 7.30 plus 45 
seconds — at the same time as the second 
wave in my part of the line. The corporal 
got up, so I realised that the second wave 
was assembling on the top to go over. 
The ladders had been smashed or used 
as stretchers long ago. Scrambling out 
of a battered part of the trench, I arrived 
on top, looked down my line of men, swung 
my rifle forward as a signal, and started 
off at the prearranged walk. 

A continuous hissing noise all around 
one, like a railway engine letting off 
steam, signified that the German machine- 
gunners had become aware of our advance. 
I nearly trod on a motionless form. It 
lay in a natural position, but the ashen 
face and fixed, fearful eyes told me that 



Attack 65 

the man had just fallen. I did not rec- 
ognise him then. I remember him now. 
He was one of my own platoon. 

To go back for a minute. The scene 
that met my eyes as I stood on the parapet 
of our trench for that one second is al- 
most indescribable. Just in front the 
ground was pitted by innumerable shell- 
holes. More holes opened suddenly every 
now and then. Here and there a few 
bodies lay about. Farther away, before 
our front line and in No Man's Land, lay 
more. In the smoke one could distinguish 
the second line advancing. One man 
after another fell down in a seemingly 
natural manner, and the wave melted 
away. In the background, where ran the 
remains of the German lines and wire, 
there was a mass of smoke, the red of the 



66 Attack 

shrapnel bursting amid it. Amongst it, 
I saw Captain H and Ms men at- 
tempting to enter the German front line. 
The Boches had met them on the parapet 
with bombs. The whole scene reminded 
me of battle pictures, at which in earlier 
years I had gazed with much amazement. 
Only this scene, though it did not seem 
more real, was infinitely more terrible. 
Everything stood still for a second, as a 
panorama painted with three colours — 
the white of the smoke, the red of the 
shrapnel and blood, the green of the grass. 
If I had felt nervous before, I did not 
feel so now, or at any rate not in anything 
like the same degree. As I advanced, I 
felt as if I was in a dream, but I had all 
my wits about me. We had been told to 
walk. Our boys, however, rushed for- 



Attack 67 

ward with splendid impetuosity to help 
their comrades and smash the German re- 
sistance in the front line. What hap- 
pened to our materials for blocking the 
German communication trench, when we 
got to our objective, I should not like to 
think. I kept up a fast walking pace and 
tried to keep the line together. This was 
impossible. When we had jumped clear 
of the remains of our front line trench, 
my platoon slowly disappeared through 
the line stretching out. For a long time, 

however. Sergeant S 1, Lance-corporal 

M , Rifleman D , whom I remem- 
ber being just in front of me, raising his 
hand in the air and cheering, and myself 
kept together. Eventually Lance-cor- 
poral M was the only one of my pla- 
toon left near me, and I shouted out to 



68 Attack 

him, *^ Let's try and keep together." It 
was not long, however, before we also 
parted company. One thing I remem- 
ber very well about this time, and that 
was that a hare jmnped up and rushed 
towards and past me through the dry, 
yellowish grass, its eyes bulging with fear. 

We were dropping into a slight valley. 
The shell-holes were less few, but bodies 
lay all over the ground, and a terrible 
groaning arose from all sides. At one 
time we seemed to be advancing in little 
groups. I was at the head of one for a 
moment or two, only to realise shortly 
afterwards that I was alone. 

I came up to the German wire. Here 
one could hear men shouting to one an- 
other and the wounded groaning above 
the explosions of shells and bombs and 



Attack 69 
the rattle of machine-guns. I found my- 
self with J , an officer of '^C" com- 
pany, afterwards killed while charging a 
machine-gun in the open. We looked 
round to see what our fourth line was do- 
ing. My company's fourth line had no 

leader. Captain W ^k, wounded twice, 

had fallen into a shell-hole, while Ser- 
geant S r had been killed during the 

preliminary bombardment. Men were 
kneeling and firing. I started back to 
see if I could bring them up, but they were 
too far away. I made a cup of my mouth 

and shouted, as J was shouting. We 

could not be heard. I turned round again 
and advanced to a gap in the German 
wire. There was a pile of our wounded 
here on the German parapet. 

Suddenly I cursed. I had been scalded 



70 Attack 

in the left hip. A shell, I thought, had 
blown up in a water-logged crump-hole 
and sprayed me with boiling water. Let- 
ting go of my rifle, I dropped forward full 
length on the ground. My hip began to 
smart unpleasantly, and I left a curious 
warmth stealing down my left leg. I 
thought it was the boiling water that 
had scalded me. Certainly my breeches 
looked as if they were saturated with 
water. I did not know that they were 
saturated with blood. 

So I lay, waiting with the thought that 
I might recover my strength (I could 
barely move) and try to crawl back. 
There was the greater possibility of 
death, but there was also the possibility 
of life. I looked around to see what was 
happening. In front lay some wounded ; 



Attack 71 

on either side of them stakes and shreds 
of barbed wire twisted into weird contor- 
tions by the explosions of our trench-mor- 
tar bombs. Beyond this nothing but 
smoke, interspersed with the red of burst- 
ing bombs and shrapnel. 

From out this ghastly chaos crawled a 
familiar figure. It was that of Sergeant 

K , bleeding from a wound in the 

chest. He came crawling towards me. 

^' Hallo, K ," I shouted. 

Are you hit, sir?" he asked. 
Yes, old chap, I am," I replied. 



a 
a- 



**Tou had better try and crawl back," 
he suggested. 



a 



I don't think I can move," I said. 
**I'll take off your equipment for you." 
He proceeded very gallantly to do this. 
I could not get to a kneeling position my- 



72 Attach 

self, and he had to get hold of me, and 
bring me to a kneeling position, before un- 
doing my belt and shoulder-straps. We 
turned round and started crawling back 
together. I crawled very slowly at first. 
Little holes opened in the groimd on either 
side of me, and I understood that I was 
under the fire of a machine-gun. In front 
bullets were hitting the turf and throwing 
it four or five feet into the air. Slowly 
but steadily I crawled on. Sergeant 

K and I lost sight of one another. I 

think that he crawled off to the right and 
I to the left of a mass of barbed wire en- 
tanglements. 

I was now confronted by a danger from 
our own side. I saw a row of several men 
kneeling on the ground and firing. It is 
probable that they were trying to pick off 



Attack 73 

German machine-gunners, but it seemed 
very much as if they would **pot" a few 
of the returning wounded into the bar- 
gain. 

^*For God's sake, stop firing,'' I 
shouted. 

Words were of no avail. I crawled 
through them. At last I got on my feet 
and stumbled blindly along. 

I fell down into a sunken road with 
several other wounded, and crawled up 
over the bank on the other side. The 
Germans had a machine-gun on that road, 
and only a few of us got across. Some 
one faintly called my name behind me. 
Looking round, I thought I recognised a 
man of *^C" company. Only a few days 
later did it come home to me that he was 
my platoon observer. I had told him to 



74 Attack 

stay with me whatever happened. He 
had carried out his orders much more 
faithfully than I had ever meant, for he 
had come to my assistance, wounded twice 
in the head himself. He hastened for- 
ward to me, but, as I looked round wait- 
ing, uncertain quite as to who he was, his 
rifle clattered on to the ground, and he 
crumpled up and fell motionless just be- 
hind me. I felt that there was nothing 
to be done for him. He died a hero, just 
as he had always been in the trenches, full 
of self-control, never complaining, a ready 
volunteer. Shortly afterwards I sighted 
the remains of our front line trench and 
fell into them. 

At first I could not make certain as to 
my whereabouts. Coupled with the fact 
that my notions in general were becoming 



Attack 75 

somewhat hazy, the trenches themselves 
were entirely unrecognisable. They were 
filled with earth, and about half their or- 
iginal depth. I decided, with that quick, 
almost semi-conscious intuition that 
comes to one in moments of peril, to pro- 
ceed to the left (to one coming from the 
German lines). As I crawled through 
holes and over mounds I could hear the 
vicious spitting of machine-gun bullets. 
They seemed to skim just over my helmet. 
The trench, opening out a little, began to 
assume its old outline. I had reached the 
head of New Woman Street, though at the 
time I did not know what communication 
trench it was — or trouble, for that matter. 
The scene at the head of that communi- 
cation trench is stamped in a blurred but 
unforgettable way on my mind. In the 



76 Attack 

remains of a wrecked dug-out or emplace- 
ment a signaller sat, calmly transmitting 
messages to Battalion Headquarters. A 
few bombers were walking along the con- 
tinuation of the front line. I could dis- 
tinguish the red grenades on their arms 
through the smoke. There were more of 
them at the head of the communication 
trench. Shells were coming over and 
blowing up round about. 

I asked one of the bombers to see what 
was wrong with my hip. He started to 
get out my iodine tube and field dressing. 
The iodine tube was smashed. I remem- 
bered that I had a second one, and we 
managed to get that out after some time. 
Shells were coming over so incessantly 
and close that the bomber advised that we 
should walk farther down the trench be- 



Attack 77 

fore commencing operations. This done, 
he opened my breeches and disclosed a 
small hole in the front of the left hip. It 
was bleeding fairly freely. He poured in 
the iodine, and put the bandage round 
in the best manner possible. We set off 
down the communication trench again, in 
company with several bombers, I holding 
the bandage to my wound. We scrambled 
up mounds and jumped over craters 
(rather a painful performance for one 
wounded in the leg) ; we halted at times in 
almost open places, when machine-gun 
bullets swept unpleasantly near, and one 
felt the wind of shells as they passed just 
over, blowing up a few yards away. In 
my last stages across No Man's Land my 
chief thought had been, '^I must get home 
now for the sake of my people." Now, 



78 Attack 

for I still remember it distinctly, my 
thought was, ^^Will my name appear in 
the casualty list under the head of * Killed' 
or ^Wounded"?" and I summoned up a 
mental picture of the two alternatives in 
black type. 

After many escapes we reached the Ee- 
serve Line, where a military policeman 
stood at the head of Woman Street. He 
held up the men in front of me and di- 
rected them to different places. Some 
one told him that a wounded officer was 
following. This was, perhaps, as well, 
for I was an indistinguishable mass of 
filth and gore. My helmet was covered 
with mud, my tunic was cut about with 
shrapnel and bullets and saturated with 
blood; my breeches had changed from a 
khaki to a purple hue; my puttees were 



Attack 79 

in tatters ; my boots looked like a pair of 
very muddy clogs. 

The military policeman consigned me to 
the care of some excellent fellow, of what 
regiment I cannot remember. After 
walking, or rather stumbling, a short way 
down Woman Street, my guide and I came 
upon a gunner Colonel standing outside 
his dug-out and trying to watch the prog- 
ress of the battle through his field-glasses. 

*^ Good-morning," he said. 

^^Good-morning, sir," I replied. 

This opening of our little conversation 
was not meant to be in the least ironical, 
I can assure you. It seemed quite nat- 
ural at the time. 

*' Where are you hitT' he asked. 

''In the thigh, sir. I don't think it's 
anything very bad." 



80 Attack 

*^Good. How are we getting on?" 
**Well, I really can't say mucli for cer- 
tain, sir. But I got nearly to their front 
line." 

Walking was now becoming exceed- 
ingly painful and we proceeded slowly. 
I choked the groans that would rise to my 
lips and felt a cold perspiration pouring 
freely from my face. It was easier to 
get along by taking hold of the sides of 
the trench with my hands than by being 
supported by my guide. A party of 
bombers or carriers of some description 
passed us. We stood on one side to let 
them go by. In those few seconds my 
wound became decidedly stiffer, and I 
wondered if I would ever reach the end 
of the trenches on foot. At length the 
communication trench passed through a 



Attack 81 

belt of trees, and we found ourselves in 
Cross Street. 

Here was a First Aid Post, and 
E.A.M.C. men were hard at work. I had 
known those trenches for a month past, 
and I had never thought that Cross Street 
could appear so homelike. Hardly a 
shell was falling and the immediate din 
of battle had subsided. The sun was be- 
coming hot, but the trees threw refresh- 
ing shadows over the wide, shallow brick- 
floored trenches built by the French two 
years before. The R.A.M.C. orderlies 
were spealdng pleasant words, and men 
not too badly wounded were chatting 
gaily. I noticed a dresser at work on a 
man near by, and was pleased to find that 
the man whose wounds were being at- 
tended to was my servant L . His 



82 Attack 

wound was in the hip, a nasty hole drilled 
by a machine-gun bullet at close quarters. 
He showed me his water-bottle, penetrated 
by another bullet, which had inflicted a 
further, but slight, wound. 

There were many more serious cases 
than mine to be attended to. After about 
five or ten minutes an orderly slit up my 
breeches. 

* ' The wound 's in the front of the hip, ' ' I 
said. 

**Yes, but there's a larger wound where 
the bullets come out, sir." 

I looked and saw a gaping hole two 
inches in diameter. 

**I think that's a Blighty one, isn't it?" 
I remarked. 

^*I should just think so, sir!" he re- 
plied. 



Attack 83 

^' Thank God I At last!" I murmured 
vehemently, conjuring up -^dsions of the 
good old homeland. 

The orderly painted the iodine round 
both wounds and put on a larger band- 
age. At this moment R , an officer of 

^^D" company, came limping into Cross 
Street. 

^^ Hallo, L ," he exclaimed, *'we had 

better try and get down to hospital to- 
gether." 

We started in a cavalcade to walk 
down the remaining trenches into the 
village, not before my servant, who 
had insisted on staying with me, had re- 
marked— 

^^I think I should like to go up again 
now, sir," and to which proposal I had 
answered very emphatically — 



84 Attack 

^^ You won't do anything of the sort, my 
friend!" 

E led the way, with a man to help 

him, next came my servant, then two or- 
derlies carrying a stretcher with a terribly 
wounded Scottish private on it; another 
orderly and myself brought up the rear — 
and a very slow one at that ! 

Turning a corner, we found ourselves 
amidst troops of the battalion in reserve 
to us, all of them eager for news. A sub- 
altern, with whom I had been at a Divi- 
sional School, asked how far we had got. 
I told him that we were probably in their 
second line by now. This statement caused 
disappointment. Every one appeared to 
believe that we had taken the three lines in 
about ten minutes. I must confess that 
the night before the attack I had enter- 



Attack 85 

tained hopes that it would not take us 
much longer than this. As a matter of 
fact my battalion, or the remains of it, 
after three hours of splendid and severe 
fighting, managed to penetrate into the 
third line trench. 

Loss of blood was beginning to tell, and 
my progress was getting slower every min- 
ute. Each man, as I passed, put his arm 
forward to help me along and said a cheery 
word of some kind or other. Down the 
wide, brick-floored trench we went, past 
shattered trees and battered cottages, 
through the rank grass and luxuriant 
wild flowers, through the rich, unwarlike 
aroma of the orchard, till we emerged into 
the village ^'boulevard." 

The orderly held me under the arms till 
I was put on a wheeled stretcher and hur- 



86 Attack 

ried along, past the ^^ boulevard pool" with 
its surrounding elms and willows, and, at 
the end of the ^^ boulevard," up a street to 
the left. A short way up this street on the 
right stood the Advanced Dressing Sta- 
tion — a well-sandbagged house reached 
through the usual archway and courtyard. 
A dug-out, supplied with electric light and 
with an entrance of remarkable sandbag 
construction, had been tunnelled out be- 
neath the courtyard. This was being used 
for operations. 

In front of the archway and in the road 
stood two ^^ padres" directing the con- 
tinuous flow of stretchers and walking 
wounded. They appeared to be doing all 
the work of organisation, while the 
E.A.M.C. doctors and surgeons had their 



Attack 87 

hands full with dressings and operations. 
These were the kind of directions : 

''Wounded Sergeant? Right. Abdom- 
inal wound? All right. Lift him off— 
gently now. Take him through the arch- 
way into the dug-out." 

''Dead? Yes! Poor fellow, take him 
down to the Cemetery." 

'^ German? Dug-out No. 2, at the end 
of the road on the right." 

Under the superintendence of the R.C. 
''padre," a man whose sympathy and 
kindness I shall never forget, my stretcher 
was lifted off the carrier and I was placed 
in the archway. The "padre" loosened 
my bandage and looked at the wound, 
when he drew in his breath and asked if I 
was in much pain. 



88 Attach 

**Not an enormous amount," I an- 
swered, but asked for something to drink. 

^'Are you quite sure it hasn't touched 
the stomach *?" he questioned, looking 
shrewdly at me. 

I emphatically denied that it had, and 
he brought a blood-stained mug with a 
little tea at the bottom of it. I can hon- 
estly say that I never enjoyed a drink so 
much as that one. 

Shells, high explosives and shrapnel, 
were coming over every now and then. I 
kept my helmet well over my head. This 
also served as a shade from the sun, for it 
was now about ten o'clock and a sultry 
day. I was able to obtain a view of events 
round about fairly easily. From time to 
time orderlies tramped through the arch- 
way, bearing stretcher-cases to the dug- 



Attack 89 

out. Another officer had been brought in 
and placed on the opposite side of the 
archway. The poor fellow, about nine- 
teen, was more or less unconscious. His 
head and both hands were covered in ban- 
dages crimson with blood. So coated was 
he with mud and gore that I did not at 
first recognise him as an officer. At the 
farther end of the arch a young private 
of about eighteen was lying on his side, 
groaning in the agony of a stomach wound 
and crying ^^ Mother." The sympathetic 
^^ padre" did the best he could to comfort 
him. Out in the road the R.A.M.C. were 
dressing and bandaging the ever-increas- 
ing flow of wounded. Amongst them a 
captive German R.A.M.C. man, in green 
uniform, with a Red Cross round his 
sleeve, was visible, hard at work. Every- 



90 Attack 

thing seemed so different from the deadly 
strife a thousand or so yards away. 
There, foe was inflicting wounds on foe; 
here were our men attending to the Ger- 
man wounded and the Germans attending 
to ours. Both sides were working so hard 
now to save life. There was a human 
touch about that scene in the ruined village 
street which filled one with a sense of min- 
gled sadness and pleasure. Here were 
both sides united in a common attempt to 
repair the ravages of war. Humanity had 
at last asserted itself. 

It was about eleven o'clock, I suppose, 
when the ^^ padre" came up again to my 
stretcher and asked me if I should like to 
get on, as there was a berth vacant in an 
ambulance. The stretcher was hoisted up 
and slid into the bottom berth of the car. 



Attack 91 

The berth above was occupied by an un- 
conscious man. On the other side of the 
ambulance were four sitting cases — a pri- 
vate, a sergeant, a corporal, and a rifle- 
man, the last almost unconscious. Those 
of us who could talk were very pleased 
with life, and I remember saying: 
^ ' Thank God, we 're out of that hell, boys ! ' ' 

** What's wrong with him?" I asked the 
corporal, signifying the unconscious man. 

**Hit in the lungs, sir. They've set him 
up on purpose." 

The corporal, pulling out his cigarette 
case, offered cigarettes all round, and we 
started to smoke. The last scene that I 
saw in Hebuterne was that of three men 
dressing a tall badly wounded Prussian 
officer lying on the side of the road. The 
ambulance turned the corner out of the vil- 



92 Attack 

lage. There followed three ^'crashes" 
and dust flew on to the floor of the car. 

^* Whizz-bangs," was the corporal's la- 
conical remark. 

We had passed the German road bar- 
rage, and were on our way to peace and 
safety. 



CHAPTER IV 



TOLL OF ATTACK 



We climbed the little white road which led 
through the battery positions now almost 
silent, topped the crest, and dipped into 
Sailly-au-Bois. The village had been 
very little shelled since the night before, 
and appeared the same as ever, except that 
the intense traffic, which had flowed into 
it for the past month, had ceased. Lim- 
bers and lorries had done their work, and 
the only objects which filled the shell- 
scarred streets were slow-moving ambu- 
lances, little blood-stained groups of 



93 



94 Attack 

^ talking wounded," and the troops of a 
new division moving up into the line. 

Though we were all in some pain as the 
ambulance jolted along through the ruts in 
the side of the road, we felt rather sorry 
for those poor chaps as they peered inside 
the car. Our fate was decided, theirs still 
hung in the balance. How often on the 
march one had looked back oneself into a 
passing ambulance and wished, rather 
shamefully, for a ^^ Blighty" one. Sun- 
burnt and healthy they looked as they 
shouted after us : '^Grood luck, boys, give 
our love to Blighty." 

At the end of the village the ambulance 
swung off on a road leading to the left. It 
must have crossed the track by which my 
platoon and I had gone up the night be- 
fore. About 11.30 A.M. we arrived at 



Toll of Attack 95 

Couin, the headquarters of the First Field 
Ambulance. 

A hum of conversation and joking arose 
from every side, and, with some excep- 
tions, you could not have found such a 
cheery gathering anywhere. The immedi- 
ate strain of battle had passed, and friends 
meeting friends compared notes of their 
experiences in the ^^show." Here a man 
with a bandaged arm was talking affec- 
tionately to a less fortunate ^^pal" on a 
stretcher, and asking him if he could do 
anything for him ; it is extraordinary how 
suffering knits men together, and how 
much sympathy is brought out in a man at 
the sight of a badly wounded comrade: 
yonder by the huts an orderly assisted a 
^^ walking case," shot through the lungs 
and vomiting blood freely. 



96 Attack 

Near by I recognised B 's servant of 

the L S . When he had finished 

giving some tea or water to a friend, I 

hailed him and asked him if Mr. E was 

hit. Mr. E , he told me, had been laid 

up for some days past, and had not taken 
part in the attack. He was, however, go- 
ing round and writing letters for the men. 
Would I like to see him ? We were fairly 
good acquaintances, so I said that I should. 
Presently he arrived. 

"Bad luck, old chap. Where have you 
caught it ? " he asked. 

"In the thigh," I replied. 

He wrote two post-cards home for me, 
one home and another to relatives, and I 
did my best to sign them. I remember 
that on one of them was inscribed : ' ' This 
is to let you know that E has been 



Toll of Attach 97 

caught bending,'' and wondering what my 
grandfather, a doctor, would make out of 

that! 

The sun was beating down on us now, 
and since, after I had been duly labelled 
''G.S.W. (gun-shot wound) Back," a 
Medical Staff Officer advised that I should 
be transferred into the officers' hut, I en- 
tered its cooler shades with much gladness. 

Captain W 1 came in soon after- 
wards. In the second line German trench 
he had looked over the parados to see if 
any opposition was coming up from the 
third line trench, and had been hit by a 
machine-gun bullet in the shoulder. In 
making his way home he had been hit 

twice again in the shoulder. H also 

put in an appearance with a bullet wound 
in the arm. He had taken a party of 



98 Attack 

^ talking wounded" up to Sailly-au-Bois, 
and got a car on. A doctor brought round 
the familiar old beverage of tea, which in 
large quantities, and in company with 
whisky, had helped us through many an 
unpleasant day in the trenches. Captain 

W ^t refused it, and insisted on having 

some bread and jam. I took both with 
much relish, and, having appeased an un- 
usually large appetite, got an orderly to 
wash my face and hands, which were 
coated with blood. 

*'I dare say you feel as you was gettin' 
back to civilisation again, sir," he said. 
Much refreshed, and quietly looking at a 
new number of The Tatler, I certainly 
felt as if I was, though, in spite of an air 
ring, the wound was feeling rather uncom- 
fortable. At the end of the hut two or 



Toll of Attack 99 

three poor fellows were dying of stomach 
wounds. It was a peculiar contrast to 
hear two or three men chatting gaily just 
outside my end of the hut. I could only 
catch fragments of the conversation, which 
I give here. 

^'When Mr. A gave the order to 

advance, I went over like a bird." 

*'The effect of the rum, laddie!" 

^^Mr A — — was going strong too." 

^^ What's happened to Mr. A , do you 

know?" 

^* Don't know. I didn't see 'im after 
that." 

^^'E's all right. Saw him just now. 
Got a wound in the arm. ' ' 

*'Good. Isn't the sun fine here? 
Couldn't want a better morning for an 
attack, could you?" 



100 Attack 

The hut was filling rapidly, and the 
three stomach cases being quite hopeless 
were removed outside. A doctor brought 

in an officer of the K 's. He was quite 

dazed, and sank full length on a bed, pass- 
ing his hand across his face and moaning. 
He was not wounded, but had been blown 
up whilst engaged in cutting a communica- 
tion trench across No Man's Land, they 
told me. It was not long, however, before 
he recovered his senses sufficiently enough 
to walk with help to an ambulance. A 
^^ padre" entered, supporting a young offi- 
cer of the , a far worse case of shell 

shock, and laid him out on the bed. He 
had no control over himself, and was 
weeping hysterically. 

*^For God's sake don't let me go back, 
don't send me back!" he cried. 



Toll of Attack 101 

The *^ padre'- tried to comfort liim. 

' ' You 11 soon be in a nice hospital at the 
Base, old chap, or probably in England." 

He looked at the padi'e blankly, not un- 
derstanding a word that he was saying. 

A more extraordinary case of shell 
shock was that of an officer lying about 
three beds down from me. In the usual 
course of events an R.A.M.C. corporal 
asked him his name. 

"Y ," he replied in a vague tone. 

The corporal thought that he had better 
make certain, so with as polite a manner as 
possible looked at his identification disc. 

*'It puts Lt. B here," he said. 

There followed a lengthy argument, at 
the end of which the patient said — 

**Well, it's no use. You had better give 
it up. I don 't know what my name is ! " 



102 Attack 

A Fusilier officer was carried in on a 
stretcher and laid next to me. After a 
time he said — 

^^Is your name L "?" 

I replied affirmatively. 

*' Don't you recognise me?'' he ques- 
tioned. 

I looked at him, but could not think 
where I had seen him before. 

**My name's D . I was your Com- 
pany Quartermaster-Sergeant in the Sec- 
ond Battalion. ' ' Then I remembered him, 
though it had been hard to recognise him 
in officer's uniform, blood-stained and tat- 
tered at that. We compared notes of our 
experiences since I had left the second 
line of my battalion in England nearly a 
year before, until, soon afterwards, he 
was taken out to an ambulance. 



Toll of Attack 103 

At the other end of the hut it was 
just possible to see an officer tossing to 
and fro deliriously on a stretcher. I use 
the word ^^deliriously," though he was 
probably another case of shell shock. 
He was wounded also, judging by the 
bandages which swathed the middle 
part of his body. The poor fellow 
thought that he was still fighting, and 
every now and again broke out like 
this — 

"Keep 'em off, boys. Keep 'em off. 
Give me a bomb, sergeant. Get down! 
My God! I'm hit. Put some more of 
those sandbags on the barricade. These 
damned shells! Can I stand it any 
longer? Come on, boys. Come along, 
sergeant! We must go for them. Oh! 
my God! I must stick it!" 



104 Attack 

After a time tlie cries became fainter, 
and the stretcher was taken out. 

About three o'clock I managed to get a 
doctor to inject me with anti-tetanus. I 
confess that I was rather anxious about 
getting this done, for in crawling back 
across No Man's Land my wound had been 
covered with mud and dirt. The orderly, 
who put on the iodine, told me that the 
German artillery was sending shrapnel 
over the ridge. This was rather discon- 
certing, but, accustomed as I had become 
to shrapnel at close quarters, the sounds 
seemed so distant that I did not bother 
more about them. 

It must have been about four o'clock 
when my stretcher was picked up and I 
passed once again into the warm sunlight. 
Outside an orderly relieved me of my steel 



Toll of Attack 105 

and gas helmets, in much the same way as 
the collector takes your ticket when you 
pass through the gates of a London ter- 
minus in a taxi. Once more the stretcher 
was slid into an ambulance, and I found 
myself in company with a young subaltern 

of the K 's. He was very cheery, and 

continued to assert that we should all be in 
^^ Blighty" in a day or two's time. When 
the A.S.C. driver appeared at the entrance 
of the car and confirmed our friend's opin- 
ion, I began to entertain the most glorious 
visions of the morrow — visions which I 
need hardly say did not come true. 

' ' How were you hit ? " I asked the officer 
of the K 's. 

*^I got a machine-gun bullet in the pit of 
the stomach while digging that communi- 
cation trench into No Man's Land. It's 



106 Attack 

been pretty bad, but the pain's going now, 
and I think I shall be all right. ' ' 

Then he recognised the man on the 
stretcher above me. 

*^ Hullo, laddie," he said. *^What have 
they done to youl" 

^^IVe been hit in the left wrist and the 
leg, sir. I hope you aren't very bad." 

The engine started, and we set off on 
our journey to the Casualty Clearing Sta- 
tion. For the last time we passed the vil- 
lages, which we had come to know so inti- 
mately in the past two months during rest 
from the trenches. There was Souastre, 
where one had spent pleasant evenings at 
the Divisional Theatre; St. Amand with 
its open square in front of the church, the 
meeting-place of the villagers, now de- 
serted save for two or three soldiers ; Gau- 



Toll of Attack 107 

diempre, the headquarters of an Army 
Service Corps park, with its lines of 
roughly made stables. At one part of the 
journey a 15-inch gun let fly just over the 
road. We had endured quite enough 
noise for that day, and I was glad that it 
did not occur again. From a rather tor- 
tuous course through bye-lanes we turned 
into the main Arras to DouUens road — 
that long, straight, typical French high- 
way with its avenue of poplars. Shortly 
afterwards the ambulance drew up outside 
the Casualty Clearing Station. 

The Casualty Clearing Station was situ- 
ated in the grounds of a chateau. I be- 
lieve that the chateau itself was used as a 
hospital for those cases which were too 
bad to be moved farther. We were taken 
into a long cement-floored building, and 



108 Attack 

laid down in a line of stretchers which ran 
almost from the doorway up to a screen at 
the end of the room, behind which dress- 
ings and operations were taking place. 

On my right was the officer of the K ^^'s, 

still fairly cheery, though in a certain 
amount of pain ; on my left lay a rifleman 
hit in the chest, and very grey about the 
face ; I remember that, as I looked at him, 
I compared the colour of his face with that 
of the stomach cases I had seen. A 
stomach case, as far as I can remember, 
has an ashen pallor about the face ; a lung 
case has a haggard grey look. Next to 
him a boy of about eighteen was sitting on 
his stretcher; he was hit in the jaw, the 
arms, and the hands, but he calmly took 
out his pipe, placed it in his blood-stained 
mouth, and started smoking. I was talk- 



Toll of Attack 109 

ing to the officer of the K 's, when he 

suddenly fell to groaning, and rolled over 
on to my stretcher. I tried to comfort 
him, but words were of no avail. A doctor 
came along, asked a few questions, and 
examined the wound, just a small hole in 
the pit of the stomach ; but he looked seri- 
ous enough about it. The stretcher was 
lifted up and its tortured occupant borne 
away behind the screen for an operation. 
That was the last I saw of a very plucky 
young fellow. I ate some bread and jam, 
and drank some tea doled out liberally all 
down the two lines of stretchers, for an- 
other line had formed by now. 

My turn came at last, and I was carried 
off to a table behind the screen, where the 
wound was probed, dressed, and bandaged 
tightly, and I had a foretaste of the less 



no Attack 

pleasant side of hospital life. There were 
two Army nurses at work on a case next to 
mine — the first English women I had seen 
since I returned from leave six months 
before. My wound having been dressed, 
I was almost immediately taken out and 
put into a motor-lorry. There must have 
been about nine of us, three rows of three, 
on the floor of that lorry. I did not find 
it comfortable, though the best had been 
done under the circumstances to make it 
so ; neither did the others, many of whom 
were worse wounded than myself, judging 
by the groans which arose at every jolt. 

We turned down a road leading to the 
station. Groups of peasants were stand- 
ing in the village street and crying after 
us: ^^Ah! les pauvres blesses! les pauv- 
res Anglais blesses ! " These were the last 



Toll of Attack 111 

words of gratitude and sympathy tliat the 
kind peasants could give us. We drew up 
behind other cars alongside the hospital 
train, and the engine-driver looked round 
from polishing his engine and watched us 
with the wistful gaze of one to whom hos- 
pital train work was no longer a novelty. 
Walking wounded came dribbling up by 
ones and twos into the station yard, and 
were directed into sitting compartments. 
The sun was in my eyes, and I felt as if 
my face was being scorched. I asked an 
R.A.M.C.N.C.O., standing at the end of 
the wagon, to get me something to shade 
my eyes. Then occurred what I felt was 
an extremely thoughtful act on the part of 
a wounded man. A badly wounded lance- 
corporal, on the other side of the lorry, 
took out his handkerchief and stretched it 



112 Attack 

over to me. When I asked him if he was 
sure that he did not want it, he insisted 
on my taking it. It was dirty and blood- 
stained, but saved me much discomfort, 
and I thanked him profusely. After 
about ten minutes our stretchers were 
hauled out of the lorry. I was borne up 
to the officers' carriage at the far end of 
the train. It was a splendidly equipped 
compartment; and when I found myself 
between the sheets of my berth, with 
plenty of pillows under me, I felt as if I 
had definitely got a stage nearer to Eng- 
land. Some one behind me called my 
name, and, looking round, I saw my old 

friend M W , whose party I had 

nearly run into the night before in 
that never-to-be-forgotten communication 



Toll of Attack 113 

trench, Woman Street. He told me that 
he had been hit in the wrist and leg. 
Judging by his flushed appearance, he had 
something of a temperature. 

More wounded were brought or helped 
in — ^men as well as officers — till the white 
walls of the carriage were lined with blood- 
stained, mud-covered khaki figures, lying, 
sitting, and propped up in various posi- 
tions. 

The Medical Officer in charge of the 
train came round and asked us what we 
should like to drink for dinner. 

*^ Would you like whisky-and-soda, or 
beer, or lemonade?" he questioned me. 
This sounded pleasant to my ears, but I 
only asked for a lemonade. 

As the train drew out of the station, one 



114 Attack 

caught a last glimpse of warfare — an aero- 
plane, wheeling round in the evening sky 
amongst a swarm of tell-tale smoke-puffs, 
the explosions of '^Archie" shells. 



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